


Rocky Mountain High

by jessie_pie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Sam, Fallen Castiel, Gen, Grumpy Dean, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessie_pie/pseuds/jessie_pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels, even fallen ones, don’t get carsick. There must be something wrong with Castiel’s vessel. And Dean doesn’t get lost, even in Colorado. There must be something wrong with his navigator.<br/>Or, in other words, nothing is allowed to go right for the Winchesters. Ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocky Mountain High

**Author's Note:**

> (Supernatural does not belong to the author of this fic, and neither does the song Rocky Mountain High.)

“We should have been in Montrose half an hour ago,” Sam says, squinting at the creased map beneath his unsteady flashlight beam. “We’re lost, Dean.”  
Dean snaps that they’re not lost, Sam’s just reading the map wrong.  
Sam sighs. “We don’t go this far west very often,” he says patiently. “It’s alright that you don’t have all the roads memorized out here.”  
Dean snarls that Sam is trying to turn driving into some sappy emotion-fest.  
In the backseat, Castiel leans his head against the cool window. Dean is too busy arguing with his brother to tell him not to touch the glass. His head throbs and his stomach is twisting like the winding mountain roads they have been driving for hours. He closes his eyes for a minute. His stomach lurches like a living creature trying to escape his body. Castiel reaches a sudden, frantic realization.  
“Stop the car,” he says with panic in his voice. “Stop the car now!”  
They nearly make it to the side of the road in time. But nearly’s never won any lottos. 

Sam hauls Cas out of the car while Dean digs in the trunk for a gallon of holy water. It isn’t the first time they’ve repurposed the sacred liquid. Given his opinion of God, Dean finds this application rather fitting.  
Dean mutters as he sponges out the car with a T-shirt that anyone else would have deemed a rag years ago. Most of what he’s saying is incomprehensible, but his erstwhile passengers can make out the words “baby”, “upholstery”, and “sorry”.  
Castiel slumps against the rocks lining the shoulder. They poke into his side, but at least they are cold. Strong hands pull him upright. It must be Sam, Castiel realizes dimly. He can still hear Dean stringing together various improbable and inaccurate oaths. Sam braces Castiel’s back against his chest.  
“It’s going to be ok,” he says soothingly. He holds a thermos cup full of holy water in front of Cas’s face. “Here, take this and rinse out your mouth. Don’t swallow it; just rinse.”  
Castiel complies. He hears a line in Dean’s mumbled tirade: “At least we can’t blame demons, but that’s about all we’ve got going for us.” As far as Cas is concerned, Dean has just admitted that they are lost. Which means more steep, backtracking roads. As an angel, he hadn’t had to deal with constant, unsteady motion. He’d just teleported and instantly been where he needed to be. Perhaps humans are considered superior for their ability to tolerate such things. Or maybe there’s something wrong with his vessel? He sinks back, allowing Sam to support his weight.  
Sam remembers hearing somewhere that being in the front seat helps people orient themselves and reduces car sickness. He starts to say this- then realizes that if Castiel was in the front seat, he’d have to be in the back. He quickly shuts his mouth. 

Two and a half hours later, the Winchesters and Castiel have returned to Salida, the town they passed through just after sunset.  
Sam lets Castiel lean on him as they walk towards the motel. Cas apologizes weakly for the evident flaws in his vessel. The fallen angel is still somewhat unsteady on his feet, but seems to be improving now that he no longer has to contend with the continual swaying of the Impala. Sam tries to explain that there’s nothing really wrong Jimmy Novak’s body, and receives a dubious look in return.  
Dean is already in the lobby. His silhouette is visible against the windows and he is badgering the clerk.  
“Does this town have an all-night carwash?” It is strange to hear him using the urgent yet controlled voice he usually reserves for emergencies in such an ordinary situation. “A twenty-four hour laundromat? Or somewhere I can buy a can of Lysol?”


End file.
